


The Con-Mans Son

by Jkitty_trashcrash



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Child Peter, Currently one chapter but I might write more, Ghosts, It's late and I decided to write, Kind of a drabble, The whole story flows kinda weird, minor sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 07:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jkitty_trashcrash/pseuds/Jkitty_trashcrash
Summary: When Peter was a kid no one ever believed him. He was the son of a Con-Man after all. And let's just say he didn't always believe in ghosts.(There's my rushed attempt at a description- it leaves much to be desired but I swear the story is decent)





	The Con-Mans Son

The blaring sound of his alarm called Peter to get up, despite not a single ounce of sunlight peering into his room. The boy sat up and rubbed at his eyes before slamming snooze. He combed his fingers through his feathery brown hair and yawned. Quickly that simple action devolved into a coughing fit. He panted against his sore and dry throat and looked over. The alarm clock was old but still read 5:45 clear and vibrant. 

He got out of his bed slowly, no enthusiasm what-so-ever in the usually charismatic boy. With a sniffle, Peter took a moment to take in his monochrome bedroom; everything within being effected by the earliest reaches of dawn. It was almost like being under a deep gray water, or a painting done with ground up river stones.

He quickly put on a button up shirt without turning on the lights and exchanged it with the one he wore. He looked down at his jeans- the ones that seemed to be ever so slightly too small and the ones that since they didn't have stains, he decided to wear to school again today. No one could tell jeans apart anyway. Not like they truely cared. 

The alarm yelled once again, startling Peter enough for him to slide and fall over onto his backside. "Ouch..." He mumbled softly, rubbing a newly formed sore spot on his lower back. He swallowed back another coughing fit with a wince. The alarm came into his focus again and he turned it off, leaving the sound of "The House Of The Rising Sun Playing" on the radio in his room. He left without turning it off, going to the kitchen. 

Grabbing some bread he took his time making himself a samwich and sliding it in a plastic bag. While many kids complained about the lunch the school would provided, Peter never once had touched the food that was deemed to much of an extra expense by his father. He stared at the sandwich in the darkened kitchen in thought. He sucked in a breath and remembered what his dad said nearly a week prior: "I'll be back soon son and when I do, I tell you we'll be rich."

It had been a full week since his father had come home, something sadly normal but today was the day his teachers wanted to speak with his dad about the boy's "disruptions". He had simply been trying to ask his teacher a question and she thought he was being smart with her. No one took the kid seriously. 

The slightly brighter coloration on the countertop let Peter know he had been dozing for awhile and he suddenly made an effort to move. He slid the bag into a paper one and walked over to put it in his bag, grabbing his half finished homework from the table on the way. He slid it all into his book bag and checked the clock in his room. 6:15. 

He sighed and grabbed a fresh pair of socks before sliding shoes on his feet. Then, with a finial glance back he grabbed the key to the door and exhaled. 

"Bye guys..." He said to no one, almost waiting for a response. The boy sounded so tired for his age, a rasp clear in his voice. Before he could liger longer he walked out and locked the door. It was hardly light out but he began his log trek to school on foot. 

The pat of his feet was soft enough you could hardly hear it if you listened, and a soft panting escaped his lungs. He wished he had drank some water before he left but continued walking slowly. 

He arrived at school when the sun had finally decided to fully rear its head and he waited outside. He had made an effort to come early like his teacher wanted but it appeared no one was there yet. He sunk into the steps and stared into the brightening sky. 

He wondered if his dad would come home tonight. If he could ask him to see his mother, it had been a very long time and he felt so bad for not seeing her. His dad usually said no but... It was worth a shot. 

Peter contemplated trying to work up some money to take the bus to see her himself but before his train of thought continued he saw his teacher. 

"Peter what are you doing here so early?" She asked, something in her voice said she would probably scold him about it. 

"You told me to come early," he croaked innocently. The woman looked down with a tested expression. 

"Don't be smart with me Peter,"she sneered and grabbed his arm to pull him up. He frounded guiltily. How was he supposed to learn social graces when no one wanted to talk to him. 

"I'm sorry ma'am," he scrambled to his feet, voice sounding broken. As she unlocked the door he stood behind her shyly and she shot a glance back. 

"What's wrong with you this morning?" She asked rhetoically. He gulped and stared at the back of her head. He had noticed a few screws loose in his brain this morning as well but didn't understand what was so wrong. 

"I don't... I don't understand," he held back a fit of coughing with watery eyes. Thewoman just shook her head and walked in. Peter stood outside looking like a kicked puppy until the woman snapped at him to come in. The halls felt so empty without all the other kids. 

"I requested your father come with you," she said softly. 

"He..." Peter gulped and put on a brave face, he had done it before, "He's out in buissness ma'am." The woman tisked. 

"Right...How'd you get here then?"

"I walked ma'am, I do every day..." he was pleased she didn't inquire about his mother but guilt still rose in his chest. The clicking of her heels on the wooden floor stopped, then continued. 

"Well then," she exhaled. Peter just walked behind her quietly. 

 

\---- 

 

His morning was spent helping his teacher clean up, a method of saying sorry for being "disruptive" in class, before up to her desk with his half completed homework. "I was hoping... You could help me with my homework for your class? I just need a little..." His voice still sounded hoarse but less so than earlier. The woman looked up from what she was doing and sighed. 

"Don't your parents ever help you with homework?" She grabbed the papers gingerly and looked over the questions he hadn't completed. Peter looked at the floor.

"Neither of my parents are home much," he admitted. When he had tried to tell other students his parents almost never came home they thought he was joking, or ask him why that was a bad thing because their parents annoy them. And he hadn't told any staff until now. 

He thought for a moment fearfully, he had never told a teacher and never really even wanted to. Everyone knew his dad... and all had a bitter taste in there mouth because of him. Peter questioned whether he was ill or not. He looked up to meet the teachers gaze, he was surprised to see it wasn't angry... It was quizzical and sad. 

"I suppose that doesn't surprise me..." She mumbled, sounding like she had finally put some peices together. "What with your father's line of work and all..." She read over the paper again, Peter was an odd student that was for sure, it was his upbringing for sure but it saddened her to see one of her students so... Deflated. That's why she wanted to go into elementary school not middle school. "What are you having trouble with?"

"I don't understand what they're asking..." He read over the sheet he had to fill out for a book report. The two slowly worked out the questions the brunette boy had been struggling with and the teacher had adopted a new tender tone to her voice. 

Peter looked at the clock and smiled at the teacher. "Thanks for the help teach," he grinned. Letting out a tiny cough before waving at her from the doorway. 

" 'atta boy, have a good day Peter," she smiled and waved at the boy who was rushing to his next class,obviously feeling alot better. 

\---- 

Peter spent the day with a cough that was received with little sympathy, nothing he couldn't handle. He finally finished school and dragged himself home. Usually he would hang around the park for a little bit but he was too tired to do much so he just walked home, chest heavy. 

When he came home he unlocked the door and coughed fully. He felt like he was going to cough something up if he continued. He swallowed hard and poured a glass of water. It tasted horribly metallic and he cringed drinking it but it soothed his throat. 

Peter silently wished he was with his mother. She always knew what to do when he felt ill, stroking his hair and letting him rest on her lap. She was always so kind. Before he knew it he felt tears prick at his eyes and he frantically wiped them away. The boy leaned over the kitchen sink washing his face in the cold water. 

He shivered and questioned weather or not to try and shower tonight, he definitely needed to wash his hair but his dad hated when he used too much got water while he was gone. So Peter simply sighed. 

"Maybe I should just boil my own water and take a bath," he said openly to no one. How desperately he wanted to hear a response. Nothing. He wrinkled his nose as he went to go to his room and try to take a nap before getting his homework done. As he opened the door he offered a distressed look to the messy room. 

He was disorganized, but not messy... It was like someone ransacked his room. His head hurt and he wanted to lay down so bas but his blankets were strewn across the room haphazardly. With an exhale the young brunette began to clean, simply for the peice of mind it would give him. As he cleaned he plied dirty laundry in a specific corner and made sure everything was put up before making his bed. He noticed something was off. 

His room was extremely cold for the end of April and he couldn't help but shiver. He looked around cautiously. Was his window open? No it wasn't that. He shivered again and through some odd turn of thought he looked up at the ceiling. 

A sticky residue was thick along the ceiling and it seemed to almost move. Peter panicked. Surely he was ill- this wasnt real. He had his eyes locked on the blue-green colored goop and then as a face formed out of it. The face laughed wickedly and it popped off the ceiling. A little amorphous creature came down and cackled at him. Peter looked around his room with terror and crawled under his bed. He looked up as the creature circled him. The boy was trembling like mad, he was terrified. 

Tears drenched the kids face as the creature again came face to face with Peter. It sure was an ugly thing, twisted and looking like- well an over grown living ball of mucus.

Peter let himself scream and cry, this surely wasn't normal. 

Then without warning he heard the most promising sound. The front door opened up. 

"Dad!" The boy yelled. The creature in the room seemed to flee as the door opened. Mr. Venkman looked in then at his son. 

"What's all this fuss about my boy?" The man seemed less worried and more concerned about all the noises escaping his son.

"Dad I saw this nasty creature!" Peter cried, struggling to describe the monster before devolving into a horrible coughing fit. 

"Easy there buddy," Mr. Venkman had no tenderness in his voice as he rubbed his son's back. The man moved his hand to the boy's forehead. "Oh son, you seem ill. That must be it," he soothed. 

"BUT DAD I SAW IT!" Peter pleaded, teary eyes overflowing again. He didn't know how to tell his dad what he saw and how to tell him it was real. 

"Bud, get dressed for bed you need to lay down," Mr. Venkman pressed, the boy infront of him looking hurt, not physically but emotionally. 

"But-" Peter frowned when his dad simply left. The boy sniffed and rubbed his puffy eyes. "how can you expect people to believe your lies if you don't believe the truth..." Peter mumbled softly. In spite of what many thought- Peter was an intelligent kid. He saw through what his dad was doing. Peter wished he could kick something other than his bedframe but without an outlet for his rage his simply curled up on the floor in tears. He leaned on his bed, shivering. 

That sense of cold had come back and with it Peter felt his heart breifly stop. 

In that moment there was silence. Pure as it could be. Peter held his breath and waited. But nothing came. He shivered out a sigh and curled in on himself. His father made no noise from the living room, and soon Peter had nodded off on his floor. 

Cold and quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I've been working on on-and-off all of today and I thought I would post it. It was more self indulgent- things that kinda happened to my boy. I have a few headcannons about his childhood that I want to write down. 
> 
> And I also have some headcannons about his mother- I'm currently working on an extremely late mother's day fic on the subject. And boy- the notes I wrote down to summarize the plot on that one give me chills right now. 
> 
> But never mind all that, if you can I would really appreciate feedback! (And I already know I pacing in this peice was utter garbage but again it would be nice to hear what you think!) I'm slowly working on writing things that aren't extremely short...
> 
> Have a good day~


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